


Like a desperation murmur of a heartbeat

by katnor



Series: Elves in Time [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Akhal-Teke, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, Confident Thranduil, F/M, Horses, Innuendo, Thranduil is a total babe, Unresolved Sexual Tension, thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 09:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnor/pseuds/katnor
Summary: Finding the right model isn't always easy for an artist. This artist, however, might have bitten off more than they could chew.





	Like a desperation murmur of a heartbeat

He was blonde, gorgeous and said his name was Ned. I didn’t care much about his name or his background, all I wanted to do was paint him. I’d called the agency a few days earlier, asking if they had any new faces, my latest model was heavily pregnant and not too keen on standing up and holding the same pose for prolonged periods of time. 

Anyway, this was what they sent me. Six foot five at least, broad shoulders, narrow waist, straight hair of pale gold that reached his ass, dressed in a simple combination of dark wash jeans and a dark green long-sleeved t-shirt. His eyes were a pale blue and fringed with long, dark lashes, which made me suspect his hair colour wasn’t natural. His eyebrows were dark too, and it was fairly obvious he didn’t trim them. 

The first time I asked him to pose for some simple sketches, profile, full body, that sort of thing. I noticed he had a very handsome nose, long and straight, and tried not to get distracted by thoughts of what else he might possess that was long and straight. I don’t usually look at my models like that, I try to stay professional, but there was something about this man that made professionality more difficult than I was used to. 

The second time we’d scheduled some nude studies. I had a screen in my studio, so I directed him to take his clothes off behind the screen and put on the silk robe I’d left there. He stepped out with the robe sloppily tied around his waist and gaping open on top, giving a nice view of his chest. I peeled my eyes away with some difficulty, and we began the session. 

For the first sketches I had him keep the robe on, since it gave me a chance to a) draw folds and b) try and get myself together to avoid drooling. An hour or so into my sketching, I asked him to drop the robe, and he rose from the bench he’d been sitting on and did just that. 

I don’t know how to describe what was before my eyes. As an artist, I’ve seen my fair share of naked human bodies, but this wasn’t the body of a human, it was the body of a god, or possibly an angel. Pale, perfect skin like alabaster, with no visible scars and almost glowing in the soft light of the studio. Shoulders and arms rippling with muscles, perfect abs, narrow hips, long, muscular legs and no body hair that I could discern at this distance, apart from the patch of trimmed blonde hair that surrounded his impressive – length. Seems I was wrong about him dying his hair. I wasn’t sure it was possible to dye _that_.

I sketched furiously for an hour or so, then asked him to lie down on the bench, and continued sketching. I most definitely did not think about how, if this was a porn movie, I’d have soon joined him on the bench, perhaps with some watercolours so I could quite literally paint him. No, your honour, I did not have sexual fantasies about that man! 

After the day’s session was done, he got dressed and came out from behind the screen, pulling a brush through that luxurious mane. I most certainly didn’t imagine how it would feel to push my hands into his mass of hair. I couldn’t have been more in denial if I’d been swimming with crocodiles in Egypt.

He prowled over to have a look at my sketches, raised an eyebrow and said: “Impressive.” 

“You are. I mean, thank you.”

A quick smile flitted over his features, just a ghost of one really. “Will you be needing me for more sessions this week?”

“Actually, I have been planning some outdoor sketching and painting that might suit your… style. I need to pick up some props first, so if we could schedule for next week perhaps?”

“Fair enough. Will you text me about location and requirements?”

“Sure. Umm… how are you with animals? Horses, to be precise?”

“I tend to get along with them.” He wasn’t the garrulous type, I’d give him that.

“Good. I’ll let you know when and where once I have everything I need.”

The look he gave me sent a wave of heat through me. It said louder than any words _“You won’t have everything you need as long as you don’t have me.”_ That quick almost-smile made another appearance, and I suddenly got the feeling he knew exactly what I was thinking. I lowered my eyes and muttered a farewell, and he sailed out of the studio. 

***************

A few days later I texted Ned the model and informed him of date, time and place. I’d booked us in at a stud farm where they bred Akhal-Teke, a horse breed known for its beauty, endurance and intelligence. He texted me back, shortly stating he’d meet me there. I was still embarrassed about my reactions to his body, and I swore to myself I’d keep my libido in check this time.

I arrived at the stud farm early, so I could check the place out for good places for sketching, and I had time to study the horses a little closer. They were absolutely gorgeous, many of them in the golden hues that are typical for the breed. When Ned arrived, I’d decided on a few spots that would work well for my sketching. What I hadn’t counted on was Ned himself. 

He was dressed casually, in pale blue jeans that showed off his long legs and other assets – as I discovered when he turned around to grab a backpack before locking his car. His broad shoulders and well-muscled forearms were on display in a white t-shirt just this side of indecently tight. I swallowed convulsively, because for some reason my mouth had dried out in three seconds flat. I clenched my fists, dug my nails into the skin and let the sting ground me a bit. 

The lady who owned the farm had no compunctions whatsoever about making a move on Ned. She cooed and tittered, fluttered her lashes, stroked his upper arm and admired his biceps openly (and loudly). He treated her with a certain amused condescension, but she seemed not to notice and kept up her blatant flirting. Finally, she remembered I was there, and as I was the paying customer, she turned to me, asking which of the horses I wanted to start with.

I already knew which one I wanted to paint Ned with. It was a magnificent stallion, and his coat was the exact same colour as Ned’s hair. I told the owner, and she had one of the stable boys bring the horse out of the paddock, leading him over to where Ned was standing. 

Ned turned and looked the stallion straight in the eyes and seemed to make some kind of connection. The stable boy frowned but handed the rope to the tall blonde after a short discussion, and Ned stepped a little closer, slowly lifting his hand to touch the horse’s muzzle. I stared in awe as he slowly slid the halter off and dropped it to the ground. Next, he moved closer yet, putting a hand on the stallion’s flank, still looking deep in concentration. It occurred to me that maybe he was talking to the horse, silly notion, since he was completely silent. 

I suddenly realised I was missing some really good opportunities, grabbed my sketchbook and charcoals and started sketching furiously. I kept looking up at Ned and the golden horse, then glancing down at the sketchbook again, going through several pages in just a few minutes. I frowned, trying to get the line of the Akhal-Teke stallion’s neck right, but when I heard the farm owner’s gasp, I looked up. The sight in front of me could have made anyone believe in divinities. 

Ned was seated on the stallion’s bare back, tall and regal, his posture absolutely perfect, one hand resting on the horse’s neck, the other resting in a relaxed manner on his thigh. He looked like an ancient god, or a king. The flirtatious farm owner seemed to have lost capability of speech, because she just sputtered and wheezed, then stumbled off towards the stables, mumbling something about an urgent phone call. The stable boy was long gone, leaving me, Ned and the stallion alone outside the paddock.

Ned turned his head and looked at me, and for the first time since he stepped into my studio some weeks ago, I _saw_ him. Not just the desirable, hunky blonde who dropped his robe without shame and posed for me with no signs of self-consciousness. I saw a man who had total confidence in his power and his ability. I saw… 

Not a man. Because at this exact point, he shook his head slightly, and through that lovely mass of pale gold hair, the tip of a pointed ear became visible. As if that was the signal for all seeming to be dropped, he was suddenly surrounded by a faint glow. My heart was beating so hard the pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. 

He smiled then, just the tiniest hint of dimples showing. I was still staring, glued to the ground where I stood. Then Ned slid off the stallion’s back and came prowling, that was the only word I could think of, towards me. He stopped just in front of me, and his smile grew. 

“Ned?” My voice was hoarse, like I’d been yelling for days on end.

“You can call me Thranduil. Or you can just call me my lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> It began with Glorfindel on a church wall. Now we have the Mirkwood king traipsing through the centuries as well. Where will this all end? Stay tuned for more episodes of Elves in Time!


End file.
